


Canines Too Sharp

by kai_152



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Extremely Dubious Consent, Graphic Description, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kai_152/pseuds/kai_152
Summary: Connor could just stand at the center of the garden. Reply yes or no and play with his coin. And once it was over, he could shove the helplessness he feels in this moment away. Hide that memory file deep inside his data banks with all the others.Then he could go back to pretending he was okay again.





	Canines Too Sharp

**Author's Note:**

> My first dbh fanfic _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

Connor couldn’t think clearly with all the noise that now fill his world. It was deafening. 

His optical units dilated- colors bright and sharp, almost painful compared to the grey-blue hue that used to filled his vision. His sensory net felt as if every one of the millions of sensors lit on fire at once. Every surface pressed on his body, every breath that tickled his skin was one more sensation that distracted him. He couldn’t filter the noise around him. Trying to focus and _think, what should I do now_ was torture when he could hear the fans of the terminal computers whirling and the footsteps of two officers steadily padding down the hall just beyond these doors and the steadily increasing thump of his panicking regulator. His LED blinking a bright red ring, spinning round and round.

The overstimulation of his sensory systems became more and more apparent. His deviancy chipping away the husks of his machine self’s broken down programming. Cleaning up the code that use to shackle his mind. Though there was one relic of programming that Connor could not bring himself to be rid of, which he was ironically thankful for.

Amanda’s garden.

Gaining access to the garden took some time. It had encrypted itself as a firewall against deviancy but he was able to unlock it. Enter on his own free will. Letting the machine take over, if just for a little while. He didn’t want to be alive right now. He could have never simulated any of the sensations of being alive. The consequences. There was no preparation, not even a single precalculated second of thought as to what he was getting himself into. It would be like asking a fish to imagine itself as a human. Connor was the fish that skipped imagining and jumped straight onto land. And now, the world was suffocating him.

So Connor found himself escaping to it more and more. Things became easy in the garden. Instructions of what he had to do were given. He didn’t have to think so hard. The garden thought for him. He just had to input yes or no. 1 or 0. And he had all the time in the world to do it. His compute speed far greater than it is when he’s deviant, slowing down his perception of time and increasing in efficiency. No energy wasted on factoring emotions into the equation. Either this completed his directive or it didn’t. 

Of course, he would still come out if the situation called for it. Like when he’s sitting on the couch with Hank and Sumo jumps on his lap. The dog would try to make room on Connor’s chest to lay on as if he forgot he was the size of a small bear. Then Hank would nudge him on the leg, chuckling lowly at how Sumo was being spoiled by him. Connor would laugh at the statement and press his face against the oversized dog, relishing in the comforting warmth that radiated. Sumo deserved every bit of affection that comes his way and Connor liked to be there for those moments. 

Other times, he desperately craved the sanctuary. Like right now. As soon as he detected that program firing up, he flung his consciousness into the garden. LED spun yellow for a few moments before becoming an eerily calm blue. His voice was no longer his, his actions were not truly under his control- so why shouldn’t he sit back and letting his programming autorun its course. At least that way, he could tell himself that he wasn’t responsible for his actions. He didn’t have to blame himself for being too ignorant of the warning signs to stop them from happening. Too desperate for the emotional connection he recieved outside of these moments. Connor could just stand at the center of the garden. Reply yes or no and play with his coin. And once it was over, he could shove the helplessness he feels in this moment away. Hide that memory file deep inside his data banks with all the others. 

Then he could go back to pretending he was okay again.

A deep rumbling throughout the garden signaled an outside stimuli. Connor rolled the coin across his fingers. He was asked if he “liked that?” Yes or no? 1 or 0? 

“Yes,” Connor hears the gasp of not-his reply coming out from not-his mouth. “I like it.” He flicked his coin into the air and caught it. A huff of hot air that his not-body registered as a sensation popped up and auto-closed. It was an unnecessary notification. His not-body’s automatic reaction was to shudder and arch into the body behind him. A grinding sensation triggered a slow sway of his hips. 

Did he know “how pretty” he was? Yes or no? Objectively, yes. “Cyberlife designed my features to be open and inviting to ensure success in my mission.” There was a bite of resentment behind that statement. A tone of “This isn’t who I am” that was hidden in the moans generated by his programming. 

“Well, Cyberlife is full of pervs to have built you like this.” A strong hand curled around the back of his neck, gently pressing his cheek against the wall. “How many do you think tested your _features_ before giving the thumbs up?” A hand slid into his open jeans. He feels himself shaking. He’s scared. Close. His LED still blue, unswayed. 

A finger dug into him, prying its way in and pressing upward slightly. His not-mouth moans and thrusted into the finger. The program’s lubing function initiates, coating his insides. Does he “feel how wet” he was? Yes or no? “Yes.” A nibbling on his shoulder turns into a sharp bite. Preserve energy for current script running. Pause self-healing protocol. The bite burns. Close. He tossed the coin back and forth between his hands. 

Does he know that he was “a slut made to be used”? Yes or no? 1 or 0? A timer blinked down red, depicting the total amount of seconds he had to answer the question for it to be “socially acceptable.” Connor paused. His hands fumbled, dropping the coin onto the grass. 

Connor let the query timeout. 

_Insufficient data to determine an objective answer._ Subjectively, he knew the answer but regardless his LED spun blue. His pants slid down further. The hand rubbed against his cock, stimulating the programs to slowly erect it. The hand moved to rest on his hip, the fingers gripping his synthetic skin a little too tight as his hole was stretched way beyond anything he had experienced before. This was going too quickly for his body to adjust. It hurt- close. Connor picked up the coin and continued with his self-calibration game. 

His not-body’s simulated breath shuddered as he felt the intrusion fully sheathed itself in him. A whine escaped on the tail’s end of the exhale. Two rough fingers shoved their way into his open mouth, pressing down on his tongue and down his throat. His analysis came into view: cigarette ashes, sweat and oils, thirium-based lube, pre-ejaculate fluids. Connor spun the coin on his finger tip, watching the micro-adjustments keep the metal balanced. The analysis still blocking his visuals. He forgot he had to manually exit analysis notifications. 

Close. 

LED still blue.

The thrusting was slow but hard, pulling out to the very end before coming in deep. A directive popped up based on the auditory cue- “Beg for it, Connor.” Connor pinched the coin between two fingers and stared at it blankly as the program directed his not-body to spread his legs wide and spewed out shameless words of want and desire. 

“Fuck. Yes- please,” his voice gasped, his body’s hands pressed against the wall to gain some sense of balance. “It feels so good.”

“Beg me for my cum, Connor,” the voice gets gruff, thrusts speeding up. “Tell me you want it,” he growled. Connor could feel a hand returning to his neck and squeezed. There was a pressure causing some of his optical lubricant to leak out the corner of his not-body’s eyes. Close. LED blue.

“I want it,” his ass squeezing and milking the other’s cock. The garden began to drizzle a little. Connor ignored it. He tossed the coin and tried to catch it but it seemingly disappeared. Connor blinked. He looked at his hands and then the ground in confusion. 

Where was his coin? 

No. 

He needs his coin. 

No. “No. No.”

“What?” the voice had a hint of confusion and the familiar bubbling of anger but the thrusting sped up.

“Please, I need it.” Connor fell on his hands and knees in the garden, feeling around for his only source of distraction. “Please!” He squints, rubbing his hands on his face trying to get the water out his eyes but his vision gets worse and worse. The garden began glitching. Ground shaking violently and the plants around him breaking down into strings of letters and numbers. The garden detected his deviancy and was rejecting his presence. He let out a sob as he felt his consciousness return back to his physical body. The bite on his shoulder burning and the stretch of his ass foreign and too much, “Please- Gavin. Finish. Cum in me, please.” His eyes clenched shut, LED blinking furiously. Yellow- red- red- yellow.

Gavin groaned, hips jerking to bury himself as far as possible, that familiar feeling of hot cum spilling inside Connor. He leaned into Connor, arms wrapping intimately around his waist, pumping into him a few more times. He gasped, “Fuck, you’re so good to me, baby” against Connor’s neck, perspiration from the exertion wiping against Connor’s still-pristine skin. Gavin pulled out of him, Connor’s hole clenching tight to hold in the cum- automated storing of the bodily fluid until he could find a suitable place to eject it. Connor’s eyebrows pinched together, wavering upward for a split second before he schooled himself into a neutral expression. “Better get cleaned up, Connor. The old fart’s probably wondering where you went to.” Gavin wiped himself off and tucking himself away, smiling fondly at Connor, ignoring the optical lubrical fluids that had left streaks down his neutral face. “I love you, you know that, dipshit?” 

But his teeth were bared a little too much and canines a little too sharp.

Connor pulled up his pants and picked his haphazardly thrown jacket up from the bathroom floor, dusting it off before wearing it on. His eyes flickered from his hands to the ground, wishing he had his coin to distract himself from the pain he feels from his shoulder and throat and ass. From the thoughts of disgust and betrayal and self-loathing that were all coming together overwhelming his sensory systems and making it so. Fucking. Hard to think clearly. Gavin waited, almost patiently by the door, expecting something. Connor’s eyes fluttered, more of his optical fluids leaking out. The auto-response from the program kicked in one last time before shutting off. “I love you too.”

His LED blinking a bright red.

**Author's Note:**

> _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):


End file.
